


we match

by Hugabug



Series: that we may fall in love (every time we open our eyes) [2]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Grief/Mourning, M/M, Sorry Not Sorry, Wakes & Funerals, Wedding Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 19:08:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13724133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hugabug/pseuds/Hugabug
Summary: "I love you in grey."





	we match

**Author's Note:**

> based off [this tweet](https://twitter.com/ABSCBNNews/status/965186634114252801?s=09)

“What do you think? Good enough to get married in?”

Shane smiles, the heat of the mid-morning sun prickling on his face. The wind blows, plays with his hair and in his ears, the sea rushes to meet the golden shore again and again, ever as faithful.

This, he knows, is the best day of his life. “I love it.”

He hears Ryan laugh. “You haven’t even seen it.”

“I don’t need to. I know you look amazing,” He squeezes his eyes shut harder, sees colors explode in the darkness. Ryan laughs again, and he sways to the sound, dizzy with want. “I love you in grey.”

And in his ear, Ryan wheezes.

“Pop-pop?”

Shane takes a sharp inhale through his nose, rattled out of his reverie. He opens his eyes as a gentle hand lays itself on his arm, and he is greeted, quite cruelly, by his image in the dress mirror, slumped over in his favorite rocking chair.

Next to him, his daughter, Kristen, runs fingers through his silver hair. “Are you ok?” she asks. Her grey eyes are soft with concern and glassy, slightly wet from the crying she had gone through the night before. He looks up at her, and tries very hard to smile. It falls flat.

He pats her hands. “Better than yesterday.”

“That’s… That’s good.” she says, her lips twitching up just a fraction. Turning to the mirror, she continues, “How’s the suit?”

Shane follows her gaze and casts a critical eye on his reflection. He’s met with a hollow stare, tired and exhausted, shadows dancing, just below the flimsy brown of his cataracts. Wrinkles line his cheeks, deep indents caused by years of laughter suddenly doubled by a month of numbing grief. The further down he looks, the more he barely recognizes. It’s almost as if his body had decided to reflect that ugly, persistent ache that had taken permanent residence in his chest. It’s its way of rebelling, he thinks, bitterly. Its way of punishing him for letting his eyes stay dry for too long.

Shane looks away. “The tailor did a good job,” he mumbles, picking at his sleeve. “Fits like a dream.”

Kristen nods, jerkily. “Th-The service is starting soon.”

A lump lodges itself in his throat. “Is it?” he can’t bring himself to say anything else. Getting up and out of his chair is a chore, but he manages to do so anyway. Slowly and with a great deal of trembling. Once he’s at his full height, his knees decide to buckle, pleading for him not to take another step forward– Kristen manages to catch him.

Together, they exit the little back room of the venue and walk in stone silence. The closer they get to the front, the louder the collective sound of hushed whispers begin to overwhelm. Shane closes his eyes and lets himself pretend that it’s the sea.

When they reach the small door where a deep, wine red carpet starts, Kristen squeezes his arm, and just like that, the room is silenced. He opens his eyes, but doesn’t dare look up, scared of the faces he might see there, and silently, like a lamb being led to the pyre, he lets his daughter walk him down the aisle.

In his ear, a faint voice says, “Feels familiar, doesn’t it?”

The walk is simultaneously too long and too short. Soon, the level floor at his feet gives way to a hard wood platform, raised about half a foot above ground. Kristen stops here and so does he, at the precipice, overlooking harsh reality.

“You don’t–” Kristen whispers. “You don’t need to, Pop.”

Shane shakes his head. He must.

With an unsteady step, he boosts himself onto the platform, the wood making the sole of his scuffed dress shoes echo across the silent room. Once there, he risks a glance behind him, at friends and family all looking on, some with red-rimmed eyes, others with pale faces. As quick as he had done, he turns away from them, and lifts his eyes, instead, to the coffin in front of him.

Little by little, he shuffles forward, reaches out. The wood is smooth to the touch, varnished to a beautiful shine. He traces the gold decal, hand traveling up and down the casing, before finally stopping once his hand reaches glass. Here, he presses his entire palm against it.

He closes his eyes.

“Wow,” Ryan breathes, awe painted across his face, a laugh in his words. In Shane’s mind’s eye, his husband steps into his space, all of him styled to the nines– only the best on their big day– and looks up at him, fingers playing just at the collar of his dress shirt. Shane grabs his hands.

“Do you like it?” he remembers asking, gesturing at his own suit. “I wanted it like yours.”

Ryan had grinned, then, his eyes glossy with unshed tears, happiness radiating from every part of him. His smile is radiant, here, in Shane’s memories. Radiant and young and so in love. He remembers thinking of forever in this moment.

“I love it, Shane.” Ryan says, bringing Shane’s hands to his mouth to kiss. “I love you in grey.”

Shane’s lower lip trembles. Something rolls down his cheeks.

He opens his eyes, and water splatters, hot and wet, against the coffin glass. Beneath it, Ryan lays, peacefully arranged in his charcoal grey wedding suit.

Just as Shane had requested.

“Hey, little guy,” Shane croaks. More tears blur his vision as his fingers trace the wrinkles across his husband’s face through the clear barrier. “I’m sorry I made you wait. I had to change.”

Reflecting the light, the worn out wedding ring on his right hand glistens. His throat constricts.

“What do you think?” Shane whispers, bending at the waist to press his words against the glass. He tugs, weakly, at his suit jacket. “I wanted us to match.”

But Ryan is silent, as the dead is wont to be, and Shane, through the shattering ache that digs itself into his chest, through the ice that runs in his veins, through the sudden, desperate belief that Ryan’s spirit may be still at home, lying on their bed, reading a book by the gentle glow of their lamp–

Shane finally finds it in him to cry.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://www.en-sam-malas.tumblr.com)   
>  [tumblr ver.](http://en-sam-malas.tumblr.com/post/171014352880/based-off-this-part-of-this-au-though-you-neednt#notes)


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